


Roll Credits

by pomegrenadier



Series: In the Wings [3]
Category: Vampire: The Masquerade – Bloodlines (Video Game)
Genre: Angst, Canon-Typical Violence, Gen, Past Mind Control, slight AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-07
Updated: 2020-05-07
Packaged: 2021-03-02 22:06:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 502
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24054124
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pomegrenadier/pseuds/pomegrenadier
Summary: Victor holds it together for just long enough. Notwell,but enough.
Series: In the Wings [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1735327
Comments: 7
Kudos: 23





	Roll Credits

**Author's Note:**

> Angst and introspection, you know, my usual. Assumes the fledgling figured out the sarcophagus was a trap, at some point, and did not contain unlimited power or a hangry antediluvian; otherwise I do not know why they'd just leave LaCroix to open it in the independent/Anarch endings where they survive.
> 
> Independent path, but V's relationship with the Anarchs was more _complicated_ than antagonistic.

_"Give—me—the—key."_

No. No no no no no not again no he can't he won't he _won't_ —was this the plan all along? Was he always going to end up here, with LaCroix's voice squirming into him, bending him—

—Except. Victor is frozen like a prisoner under the axe as the words ring and ring and ring in his head, but somehow, _someho_ _w_ ... he isn't moving on command. He could say no. He could walk away.

It occurs to him that they might both survive this, if he tells LaCroix the truth about the Ankaran Sarcophagus. If he chooses—what, forgiveness? _Humanity?_

Victor has never felt less human.

LaCroix is staring at him, imperious, expecting nothing but the obedience he's owed. Victor leans in close and says, "Fuck you, Sebastian."

His hand snaps out—he grabs the ankh-shaped knife off the desk and slashes it across LaCroix's throat. Then he kicks him down. LaCroix gasps, chokes. The front of his beautiful suit blossoms dark and wet; he clutches at the wound, pale hands stained red. Painful, but not lethal. They're both already dead, after all.

Victor backs away and drops the key across the room from the sarcophagus with a sharp _thunk_ , carved stone on polished marble. He holds onto the knife. For a moment, he stands there watching LaCroix gurgle and slip and crawl in his own blood, desperately trying to reach it. 

Three weeks ago, would Victor still have watched? Would he have savored it like this? Does it matter? Does he care?

… No.

He turns. He calls the elevator. He takes it down to the ground floor. The bodies of the security team are still lying in the lobby, cold and broken. Chunk is nowhere to be found. It doesn't feel like much of an accomplishment. It doesn't feel like much of anything. One life, spared on sentiment, against the dozens that followed?

He didn't have to climb Venture Tower. He could have walked away, but he didn't, because he wanted to see LaCroix on his fucking knees, terrified and powerless and about to die.

Victor is halfway down the block when the top of the tower explodes. Sparks and dust and debris rain down; glass shimmers and shatters on the pavement.

Hell of a punchline, Smilin' Jack.

Nines, Damsel, and Skelter are gathered near the intersection. Damsel is grinning. Skelter isn't. Nines looks like he's about to say something congratulatory, as if Victor did any of this for the Anarchs, as if he's one of them, as if he has ever been part of something, as if he were _capable_ of it. As if a little sympathy and idealism could make it easier to breathe through one more night.

He wishes he wanted any of it.

"Don't," he rasps, hanging back. The fires bleed light over the road to glitter in the glass shards. The ankh-shaped knife is cold in his trembling hand. "I'm sorry. I'm out. I'm done."

And then, finally, Victor walks away.


End file.
